


Fall Into Your Gravity

by EmeraldEyes8917



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confession, Deductions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, F/M, Guilt, Possibly Unrequited Love, Uselessly in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldEyes8917/pseuds/EmeraldEyes8917
Summary: A sequel to 'Bond Air: After the Fall', where Anthea finds herself face to face with Sherlock Holmes, following her watching him destroy Irene Adler by unlocking the phone of scandalous secrets.Will her feelings about that night and for the consulting detective remain unknown or will he succeed in reading her so well?Some rare-pair love for Anthea and Sherlock Holmes.  Inspired by elements of my Twitter roleplay group.
Relationships: Anthea & Mycroft Holmes, Anthea/Sherlock (one-sided)
Kudos: 1





	Fall Into Your Gravity

Sitting at her desk, reading a large file on a recent target who had been evading their sight and causing tremors in the criminal underground, the ticking of the clock the only sound that marked the passing of time, though she barely notices it.

The moment soon arrived for a break, and she begrudgingly listens to her fresh air deprived brain, needing some form of sustenance, either in caffeine form or just hearing the river flowing in her ears.

Making her way through the corridors, almost like a specter except for the sound of her high heels on carpet and tiles, giving polite smiles to anyone who passed by, choosing to not become too self-absorbed in her internal world just yet.

Stepping out into the cold London air, she is checking her BlackBerry once more for any surveillance updates before opting to put it on silent and is not paying attention to her surroundings or what was in front of her.

Most days she was on high alert, given the nature of the targets being pursued or any manner of threats that had been intercepted, so it was a rare peaceful day when she allowed her defenses to lower.

So when she raised her head, the start that her heart gives, making her take a step back, is much more evident and sudden.

Standing across the road from the office building, wrapped up in a Belstaff coat and thick blue scarf was Sherlock.

The very last person in the world she expected to see, apart from Jim Moriarty.

She is halted in her tracks and takes several seconds to bring her breathing back to normal, as she feels his intense gaze even from a few feet away. Both he and Mr. Holmes had this gift, this intellect, that could coldly observe or slice through like a laser. 

Luckily, she was made of sterner stuff and could withstand such scrutiny after years of exposure, though at this moment, she felt herself struggling.

She looks left and right for any approaching cars, before making her way towards him, having to look down in front of her rather than at him directly.

A long period of time had passed since the night at Mycroft's estate, but it was never fully resolved in her own mind. The file on Miss Adler was closed and was barely spoken of apart from some hushed whispers about the scale of the loss of Bond Air, whether such an operation ever be realistically undertaken ever again, and the stricter protocols on sharing information with persons outside of the MOD.

If Irene Adler was cunning enough to consult Jim Moriarty of all people, as well as amass such a wealth of information on a mobile phone, then the scale of informants and selling of secrets was bigger than was initially thought.

All of this was tabled and discussed at meetings where tables were pounded with fists and voices raised in consternation, but not once was the matter of Miss Adler's forced exile brought up or scrutinised, for this was a matter between the four walls of that dining room, concerning the only parties present, namely Irene Adler, Mycroft Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes.

Or so they thought: no one counted on the female aide hiding in the corridor, seeing what happened with her own eyes and being forced to wrestle with turmoil on her own.

So as she stood before Sherlock, not trusting herself to look up at him just yet, she wonders how much Mycroft had told him following the manor incident and whether he had any inkling as to how much she knew about that night.

All she does is raise her head and finally look him in the eyes, and his expression is one of calm, which warms slightly as he regards her quietly.

A pause as she remains quite still, followed by him extending his gloved hand towards her, almost in a formal manner, given that they had not spoken directly for a long stretch of time.

Granted, he barely noticed her presence whenever she accompanied Mycroft to Baker Street or when Sherlock was summoned to the private rooms of the Diogenes Club or the inner office. Any instance of them being in the same room was when the two brothers were keenly focused on each other in a sustained oneupmanship contest so she more or less faded into the background.

But she watched and learned, and as she made herself known as being a person of slightly above average intelligence, it was then that Sherlock began to pay attention to her, either by deferring questions to her or by giving her an observant glance when she imparted some mildly insightful opinion.

Back in the present moment, she looks at his hand and back up to his face, the invitation to reconnect as clear as day.

But she still feels the weight of what she had witnessed, so she shakes her head and steps away, the cold wind blowing through her hair, beginning her route towards the Embankment, the place where she went to clear her head most days.

It only takes a few steps before she pauses and looks back over her shoulder, to see Sherlock standing still, appearing quite bewildered at being rebuffed.

Knowing it was about time to have a conversation, she tips her head in a gesture that signalled for him to join her, before she began to walk off, listening for his footfalls behind her to confirm that he was indeed following.

About ten minutes later, they reach the Embankment after crossing the bridge, coming down the steps and she stops beside a bench, taking a seat with her hands in her coat pockets, not looking to her right where he ambled along and takes the seat beside her.

The immediate area is mainly deserted, apart from a few joggers, some individuals taking in the afternoon air, and a handful of children running past. It was an idyllic scene, but she barely took it in, feeling the silence between her and Sherlock growing more and more awkward.

He decides to break it, saying in as casual a manner as he could manage, "Catch any criminals with your security cameras today?"

All she does is give him a sidelong glance, and he is looking at her with faint amusement before he remarks, "You and my brother are becoming more and more alike every day. He adored giving the silent treatment. Never worked on our mother."

Despite her mouth feeling quite dry, she replies, "Silence is golden, do you not know?"

Sherlock smirks, "And now she speaks. Good afternoon, Anthea."

A slight nod, "Sherlock."

He returns his gaze to the railings in front of them and Westminster Abbey, grand and looming in its architectural grandeur, across the river.

She decides to ask him a question that had been prodding her for the last quarter of an hour, "To what do I owe the visit? You rarely come by the office unless you're dragged by the ear."

Sherlock chuckles, "Usually I wouldn't care to venture close to Mycroft's domain... but I was bored and at a loose end, so what better way to pass the time than bother his assistant?"

Anthea folds her arms and crosses her right leg over her left knee, looking away from him, "I seem to recall you 'bothering' me quite a few times when there is so much free time on your hands. Hacking the security of the office lost its allure?"

Perhaps she sounded petulant, but she did not care. It had been some time since he had come by and offered that mildly annoying but welcome diversion into her work routine. She had even looked forward to it, once he had done it more than a handful of times. Whether it was to annoy her, inconvenience Mycroft or simply to see her, she could never figure out his motives.

As he looks back at her with a smug air, he remarks, "Sounds like you actually missed being bothered."

She shrugs, nonchalant, "It broke up the day's work. You might have been caught one day and I may have scored a point against you."

"Not a chance," he says with characteristic arrogance that was both infuriating and charming.

She allows her shoulders to drop from their tensed position, and glances at him, deciding to be honest, "Even though it caused a headache to the guard staff... and resetting the system was a minor inconvenience... perhaps I liked it when you stopped by."

"Oh?" His frown is confused, but he appears to be curious.

"It's not very often when a consulting detective honours me with his presence. It was rather flattering."

"Flattering?"

Now she realises the misstep she just made and begins to speak quite fast, "I mean, just that being a lowly government official that you'd want to even come to my office and cause me a headache or want tea or a biscuit or..."

Sherlock says her name with enough firmness to make her stop in her tracks.

A pause as he looks at her before his smile becomes tinged with rare fondness, "You make decent tea. You've got that going for you, at least."

Unexpectedly, her heart gives a jump, as he had commented on her being quite intelligent for an official once before and that she knew what she was talking about, as well as making good tea, so this small compliment had gravity.

Deciding to test the waters, she asks in an innocent way after turning towards him on the bench, still an arm's length distance between them, "What else do you observe that I've 'got going' for me?"

An open invitation for him to deduce her, and his eyes flash at the opportunity to show off.

"Not many people would want to be told the truth... promise you won't tell me to piss off?"

She makes a crossing motion in front of her chest in the age-old parlance of 'Cross my heart'.

With that confirmation, he moves closer and leans his left arm on the back of the bench, resting his index finger against his mouth as he looks at her with a quiet intensity that makes her feel quite exposed.

Speaking in a low, rushed mumble, he begins to pick out signs that were plainly written on her face for only a keen observer to notice, "You have a large matter in progress at the moment that requires a lot of reading, since your eyes appear slightly bloodshot and there are faint dark circles, possibly from watching a large monitor for an extended time. Or perhaps a few restless nights..."

She does not confirm or deny these facts but makes a gesture with her hand so he could continue in full flow, "When you walked out of the building, you moved quite slowly as if you had been sitting for quite some time, with a slight hitch to your left foot... training injury or ill-fitting shoes, perhaps. Making yourself slightly taller and confident in the world of stuffy men in suits. You also didn't intend to go far for your walk, since you are meticulous to a fault given the nature of your profession, so you surely would have changed into more comfortable shoes and saved yourself the pain."

A palpable hit as she itches to remove the cursed high heels but instead continues to watch him and be impressed.

He tilts his head slightly, glancing at her mouth and she does her best to not lick her lips, before he glances down at her hands, "Blue ink traces on your right thumb and a slight indentation on the right middle finger points to writing copious notes. Or doodling flowers, but who's to say?"

She is about to remark on her artistic ability when he takes her hands and turns them over, glancing at her fingertips, "Faint button-shaped imprints on both thumbs and index fingers. A keyboard... not a computer, too small and different pressure points for typing... ah, a BlackBerry, of course, since you employ it as a means of ignoring someone who is making you bored."

He sharply drops her hands back in her lap and sits back, giving her a once over, concluding, "Slight rounding of the shoulders caused by leaning over a desk or having the head bowed while reading for more than an hour. Also... Mycroft has been hounding you and giving you grey hair as I can see by the several just behind your right ear..."

Immediately, her eyes widen and she reaches to tuck her hair behind that ear, cheeks beginning to flush pink before he opines. "Though that may just be a trick of the light... still, I'd invest in some hair dye, just in case. And a wig in case it starts falling out."

At that final word where he gives her a self-satisfied smirk, she lets out a bemused laugh, "Well... that was quite impressive. I will give you a gold star, and it would have been two were it not for the grey hair trick."

Sherlock gives a mini bow from where he is seating, appearing quite pleased with himself, though his smile fades slightly, "But in all seriousness, don't let him work you too hard. He has a habit of not realising his staff are humans and not robots. You're interesting enough without becoming a burnout."

Anthea smiles, reaching forward to pat him arm lightly, "Your concern is duly noted."

He crosses his arms and appears to be the petulant one now, "Who will make him tea when you're gone, anyway? He'd have to invest in one of those machines."

She dips her head demurely, "He wouldn't miss me. Not terribly so, anyway. We have a good working relationship, and whenever it runs its course, it will be quite painless."

Sherlock pretends to yawn, "Sorry, but even the mention of him makes me bored."

She narrows her eyes at his smart comment, but then she warms up again, making the best doe eyes she could and being as charming as she could, "Would you miss me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's mouth drops open before he shuts it again, visibly flustered, "I... I don't know... maybe... perhaps... I don't know..."

Pleased with the response, she stands from the bench and crosses over the railings at a leisurely stroll, choosing not to make him more uncomfortable.

A few seconds later, he joins her at the railings, leaning his elbows against them as they stand together in companionable silence.

She decides internally that she had to bring up what had happened with the Bond Air operation, though not what had specifically occurred with Irene Adler. It may very well set her mind at ease, and allow her to sleep better.

"About Bond Air..."

He looks at her sharply, not expecting the conversation to switch so suddenly, "What about it?"

She manages to not trip over her words, switching to a more official tack, "The paperwork was backed up for two full weeks and the mortification was stamped out quickly. Very few people were informed about how it was resolved or what parties were involved. Mr. Holmes' masters were satisfied with the eventual outcome, and there were few serious repercussions."

Sherlock is giving her a very cautious gaze, "Alright..."

She ploughs ahead, her courage growing slowly, "The Vertu phone that belonged to Irene Adler was recovered with the passcode unlocked and all the information was extracted and uploaded to a secure database that only a few high level senior officials have the access to. Mr. Holmes did not say how it was recovered in the report. I just wanted you to know since you were... working closely on that matter before."

Silence, except for her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She had not quite shown her hand, but she was not certain if he would be content to accept this mini account.

"That's it?"

Blinking, she says, "Pardon?"

Sherlock pushes himself to stand from his relaxed position looking out over the water, fixing her with a look that made her feel like being doused in ice water, "You're very good at relaying information, Anthea, but you are not very good at concealing things."

She bristles at the implication, "I don't know what you mean."

Sherlock's eyes narrow and his voice takes on an accusatory tone, "You know something else that transpired with that mess. It was a complete shambles and a huge loss according to him when he summoned me to the aircraft. Mycroft had a lot to deal with and a lot of variables to deal with. He couldn't have done all of that completely by himself, despite him being such a control freak. Why would he keep it from you when he trusts you so much and needed your assistance?"

"He has his secrets. Many even from before my time. I'm not that special..."

The weak attempt to downplay her role is not fooling Sherlock, as he seizes on it immediately, "Oh, I think you are. In fact... I think you're an exception to all of his rules."

"What are you saying? Why would I hide something? You're just guessing now..."

His eyebrow twitches as she touches a nerve, "I never guess. I can read you well enough just as I did a few moments ago. You haven't quite mastered concealing facts yet."

He takes a step behind her and she is forced to turn around to face him, and he is fixing her with that same intense deductive look again, but this time, it is lasering into and through her, and she feels like she would burn away.

He launches into another deduction stream of facts, but there is no lightness this time, "When you saw me today outside the office, your face almost drained of colour. As someone who thrives on being civil and polite, you still switch that off when you meet someone who is a close acquaintance, least of all, a person related to your own superior. Granted, me coming to your office is a rare occurrence, but not an unpleasant one, as you just proved to me now. It has been several months since we have had direct contact, or else... you saw me quite recently in a precarious position that has made you jumpy..."

He takes another step closer and she can feel her resolve to begin to crack, "You keep a close eye on all your active surveillance targets. A very close eye... that's how much of a professional you are. But you're upset about something. Or someone..."

"No, I'm not..."

Her voice breaks in a telltale fashion, and she knows instantly that he had her figured out: that she was upset with him, that she was hiding something but he had not happened upon what it was yet. But it was only a matter of time before he would riddle it out.

"Anthea..."

If he were an ordinary man, it would have been a tender whisper, but not for him. He wanted the truth, and he was going to find it.

He moves like quicksilver and leans in close to her right ear, both arms bracketing her body as she leaned against the railings, not quite trapping her, but offering no means of her to move away, and his voice is urgent, low and husky, "Tell me... now."

Her breathing hitches, the unexpected closeness and the heat radiating off his body almost making her knees buckle, but she shuts her eyes, wanting it to last, nevertheless.

It was an exact mirroring of that night. When he leaned into her and whispered so intimately and proceeded to tear her down.

"Please..."

His breath stirs her hair, and she is completely helpless.

As Sherlock breathes in, his nostrils quiver as a scent hits them. Notes of peony and bergamot. Light, floral and elegant.

Terre de Lumiere. 

Where did he know that scent from? He had an extensive olfactory catalogue of perfumes in his mind palace and could pinpoint the fragrance in a matter of seconds if it had been sensed before. He had sensed it once before recently.

A single blink and he is transported through his recent memories. Dining room... Mycroft's estate... the room where it happened.

The scent had been mingled with the Woman's own strong, cloying Chanel perfume, and he had not been able to place it since.

He draws back immediately to meet Anthea's eyes, and as she looks up at him, the guilt is plain to see.

Anthea was in the house that day.

"You did know more than you let on just now..." he whispers.

Just as he is about to lay out how she lied to him, she makes a statement that halts him in his tracks, "I saw what you did to her."

Despite the cold shock that raced through his system, he remains outwardly placid as he takes a stride back and fixes her with a look that could freeze.

In a tight voice, he asks, "And what, precisely, did I do that has you so upset?"

Fighting the urge to get back into his personal space and shove him, as well as the urge to slap him, she speaks around the lump in her throat, "You were there... you know what you did."

Sherlock's eyes narrow, "I deciphered the Woman's passcode and unlocked her phone of blackmail information. That is what I did."

"No... you destroyed her. You were so... cold..."

Sherlock blinks several times, "Where were you? You were not in the room during that. But you were in the house that evening."

"It doesn't matter."

"It clearly does. You saw enough that has you making these ridiculous observations..."

He gives her another hard stare, "There's something else... something deeper. Surely, you've had suspects crack under pressure and be 'destroyed', as you put it. Do they make you emotional as well?"

She cannot conceal the trembling now, and she shakes her head, "There's nothing else. Stop deducing me, you're making me nervous."

He manages to smile, though it is not one of victory, rather one of pity, "I'd prefer for you to tell me. I can't just switch off my deductions like a tap. So how about you be honest, Anthea? You obviously believe that I have committed some great wrong that has you so emotional and has lowered me in your estimations. I wonder if Mycroft let you down in the same way. No wonder you're so upset."

Now the tears begin to well up, "You're being such a bastard right now."

"I always knew you had a backbone."

She bites her tongue, far too upset to be even remotely flattered, as she asks the question that had been plaguing her ever since that night, "Would you destroy me too?"

He sighs, exasperated, "What are you talking about now?"

"If I betrayed you and Mycroft like she did. If I turned my mind to some great scheme and had to be brought down... you'd use my sentiment as a weapon as well, wouldn't you? You wouldn't bat an eyelid. Seeing what you did to her... what you're capable of... what's to stop you from doing that to anyone else?"

A long, pregnant pause. The lapping of the water and the sound of nearby traffic and the mumbled conversations fail to quell the quiet that stretches for almost an eternity.

He looks down at the ground and appears to deflate, all of his bravado fading to nothing.

"You think that little of me?"

She swallows thickly, shrugging helplessly and not hiding her emotion, "What else am I supposed to think?"

He steps back towards her, back into her personal space, though not looking her in the eye, "I had to do what I had to do. There were lives at stake and I had to make amends for my enormous blunder. You know what Bond Air cost Mycroft and your government. You understand what I had to do."

Tentatively, she takes a hold of his sleeve, tugging it slightly to try and get him to look at her, "But at what cost?"

When his eyes meet hers again, there is that intensity that makes her nerve endings tingle.

His voice is low, but his words hit home quite painfully, "I need you to understand this, Anthea: if I need to be cold and cruel in order to solve a case, to bring a criminal to justice and to be the best I can be, then that is what I need to be. That defect... that sentiment will always be a weakness. Always."

Her lower lip trembles and a single blink causes tears to trail down her cheeks, but she is frozen in place before him so she cannot wipe them away.

His eyes briefly flicker with concern, but then they become steely again, "If you cannot accept that... then I'm afraid to tell you that both my brother and I see things from a different perspective than yours. Taking away the Woman's phone was a small sacrifice. We are in agreement, Mycroft and me, which is a rare thing, and obviously, I've disappointed you."

Shaking his head, he huffs a sigh and pulls back from her so she releases his sleeve, appearing to be quite disappointed himself, which was unexpected.

His next words are so quiet, so soft and so devastating, "And I thought you weren't so ordinary..."

With those final cutting few words, he turns away quite sharply, beginning to walk away from her in the opposite direction from where they came from.

Her head swimming with confusion, she manages to find her voice, which cracks immediately, "No... Sherlock, wait..."

Her plea is lost on the wind as he does not halt his stride or make any sign that he would look back, hands jammed in his pockets and head slightly bowed.

She tries to follow him, to try and explain what she felt and why she was so wrapped up in these feelings, but her foot catches on an uneven stone and her balance is lost, causing her to hold the railing for support, knowing she could not catch up to him at the rate he was going, and the ache in her left foot was becoming more pronounced the more weight she put on it.

All she can do is remain standing still as pain blossoms in her chest, hot and uninvited. The gust of wind is even colder as her hair is blown across her face, across her eyes and a few strands cling to her cheeks where the tear tracks glisten. 

The only thought that goes through her mind is wondering whether he had just dropped her for good and would not waste his time again on her. That he would not visit the office or wreak minor havoc. That he would not bring some meaningful levity to her workday...

It was a painful thought, on par with Mycroft dismissing her from his side or failing her country.

Turning back towards the office, she begins her lonely walk back, painting a defeated figure, knowing she had to face back into official work and put on a facade for anyone who deigned to notice.

She had let him down in the worst way possible, which was something she and Irene Adler had in common, for they had been defeated by the chemical defect found in the losing side.

Now she too had been left bereft by one man, by Sherlock Holmes, who had undone her in an instant. His gravity and intensity were holding her down, and she was powerless to resist.

_I live here on my knees as I_   
_Try to make you see that you're_   
_Everything I think I need here on the ground_   
_But you're neither friend nor foe though I_   
_Can't seem to let you go_   
_The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down_


End file.
